Episode-221

Words : 1534 Updated : Sep 29th, 2025

Chapter : 441 It was Princess Isabella who finally broke the spell. She had been standing frozen by the doorway, her usual icy composure shattered into a million pieces. The confident warrior-princess, the shrewd political operator, was gone, replaced by a young woman staring at a ghost. She had come here to put a disgraced failure in his place. She had witnessed, instead, a display of power and ruthless, political efficiency that had chilled her to the bone. This wasn't the weak, weeping man from the market. This wasn't the awkward, failed student from her friend Jothi’s stories. This was... something else. Something dangerous. Something she did not understand. And that, for a woman like Isabella, a woman whose entire life was built on understanding and controlling the world around her, was the most terrifying thing of all. Her mind, a sharp, strategic instrument, was frantically reassessing everything she thought she knew. The tournament victory. The King’s strange, sudden favor. They were not flukes. They were not accidents. They were the calculated moves of a player she hadn't even realized was in the game. A player who had kept his true strength, his true nature, hidden behind a mask of mediocrity for years. Why? For what purpose? Her gaze flickered from Lloyd’s calm, lecturing back, to the pathetic, broken form of Victor being helped to his feet by his terrified friends. She saw not just a victor and a vanquished. She saw a statement. A demonstration. A lesson delivered not just to Victor, but to everyone in the room. Including her. She had come here to threaten him, to warn him away from her sponsored student. And he had, without ever acknowledging her threat, without ever speaking a single word to her directly about it, delivered a counter-warning so potent, so absolute, that it left her feeling cold, exposed, and suddenly, dangerously, out of her depth. She met his eyes for a fraction of a second as he glanced back from the slate board, and the calm, almost gentle, look he gave her was more intimidating than any glare could ever have been. It held no anger, no triumph. Only a quiet, unwavering certainty. The silent message was clear: I am not the man you think I am. And you would be very, very wise not to cross me. Without another word, her own heart hammering in her chest, Princess Isabella turned on her heel and swept from the room, her usual regal confidence replaced by a new, unsettling, and deeply unwelcome, sense of profound uncertainty. Captain Eva followed, her own impassive face for once holding a flicker of something akin to genuine, professional alarm. The battle had been won. The point had been made. His authority was no longer in question. And in the quiet, focused aftermath, as he continued his lecture on the economics of fletching glue, the most beautiful sound in the universe chimed in Lloyd’s mind. [System Notification: Personal Milestone Achieved!] [Task: Shattering the Spectre of the Past.] [Analysis: User has returned to a location of past failure and humiliation (Bathelham Royal Academy) and has successfully, publicly, and decisively established a new paradigm of authority and power. The ghost of the ‘drab duckling’ has been confronted and permanently exorcised through a demonstration of overwhelming tactical, psychological, and magical superiority.] [Conclusion: The shell of former failure has been broken. A new identity has been forged and asserted. System is highly satisfied with this display of personal growth and ruthless efficiency.] [Bonus Reward Issued for Overcoming a Core Psychological Obstacle: 800 System Coins (SC).] [Current System Coins: 390 (Previous) + 800 (Reward) = 1190 SC.] Lloyd’s hand paused fractionally over the slate board, the charcoal stick held tight in his fingers. One thousand one hundred and ninety. A fortune. A war chest. A treasure trove of potential. It was more than he had earned from his entire, wildly successful, soap launch. The System, it seemed, didn't just reward commercial success or the elimination of threats. It rewarded personal evolution. It rewarded him for becoming the man he was always meant to be. A slow, internal smile spread through him, a warmth that had nothing to do with power or profit. He had faced the ghosts of his past, the source of his deepest shame, and he had won. Not just a fight, but a battle for his own soul. He continued his lecture, his voice calm, steady, authoritative. The lesson on power, it seemed, had been for him as much as it had been for his students. And he had passed with flying colours. Chapter : 442 The carriage ride back from the Bathelham Royal Academy was a journey through a landscape of ghosts. The familiar sights of the capital city—the bustling market squares, the grand boulevards, the imposing facades of noble houses—seemed muted, dreamlike, viewed through the thick, insulating glass of his own internal turmoil. The adrenaline of the confrontation with Victor, the cold, satisfying finality of his victory, had faded, leaving behind a profound, soul-deep weariness. He arrived at his temporary residence, a suite of rooms within a private wing of the Royal Palace that the King had graciously provided, and found the opulence suffocating. The polished marble floors echoed his footsteps, the silk-draped walls seemed to absorb the sound, creating a heavy, unnatural silence. It was a place of immense privilege, a symbol of the status he now commanded, and yet it felt like a cage, its gilded bars forged from the very secrets he was forced to keep. He dismissed the royal servants with a curt nod, needing solitude. The moment the heavy, soundproof door clicked shut behind him, the carefully constructed mask of ‘Professor Ferrum’—the calm, authoritative, and slightly eccentric academic—crumbled away. He let out a long, shuddering breath, the sound harsh in the silent room, and sank into a plush, ridiculously overstuffed armchair that probably cost more than the entire AURA manufactory’s monthly payroll. He replayed the events of the day in his mind, not with the triumphant satisfaction of a victor, but with the cold, critical eye of a general conducting a post-action debrief. The mission had been a success, objectively speaking. He had established his authority. He had silenced the primary source of dissent, Victor, with a demonstration of power so overwhelming and psychologically devastating that it would be months, if ever, before the arrogant young lord would dare to challenge him again. The other students, the brilliant, chaotic misfits of his Special Category class, had been shocked into a state of fearful, awestruck respect. He would have their attention now, their compliance. There would be no more challenges to his credibility, no more whispers about the ‘drab duckling’. He had won the battle for the classroom. But the victory felt... bitter. It had come at a cost. The weight of the secret he carried, the chasm between the man he pretended to be and the multiple, fractured souls that resided within him, had never felt so immense, so heavy. He had been forced to unleash a fraction of his true self, the cold, ruthless strategist forged in the crucible of two other lives, and the act had left him feeling hollowed out, isolated. He thought of the look on the students’ faces. The initial skepticism had morphed into fascination, then into pure, undiluted terror. Nira of Silverwood, the graceful elven light-mage, had flinched away from him, her silvery eyes wide with a fear that was almost primal. They didn’t see a professor anymore. They saw a monster. A powerful, unpredictable, and terrifyingly dangerous monster. He had gained their respect, yes, but he had lost any chance of genuine, easy camaraderie. He had become an object of fear, an authority to be obeyed, not a mentor to be trusted. The loneliness of his position settled over him like a shroud. He had a team, yes, back at the manufactory. Jasmin, Tisha, Mei Jing, the alchemists—they were loyal, dedicated, and he was beginning to see them as a strange, eclectic kind of family. But he could never be truly honest with them. He could never share the true source of his knowledge, the true nature of his power. He could never tell them about the eighty-year-old soldier who lived in his head, about the memories of a world of steel and science, about the cosmic shopping list that governed his every move. He was their leader, their benefactor, their enigmatic young lord, but he could never, truly, be their friend. He was, and would always be, utterly, completely, alone in his own head. His thoughts drifted, inevitably, to her. Airin. The ghost with Anastasia’s face. He saw her again, a small, terrified figure at the back of the classroom, her eyes wide with a fear that was all his fault. His public breakdown in the market, followed by his terrifying display of power in the classroom—he had branded himself in her mind as a source of chaos and fear. The one person in this entire, strange world who wore the face of his greatest love now looked at him with nothing but terror. The irony was a physical, twisting pain in his chest.

Episode-221

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